The Lasts

This weekend I found myself thinking over and over all of the lasts I had with David..Our last conversation, the last time we were together, the last time he left our home. Each “last” tugs at my heart. You never know that it will be the last time. I’ve dealt with long drawn out illnesses and deaths. I’ve dealt with sudden. It’s not as though one is easier than the other, but when death is unexpected there is so much left undone. There are so many “what ifs.” Would one word have made a difference? Probably not, but I’ll never know.

Every last is bittersweet.

This is not a very good post. I should write more details, but right now this is all I have.


Talking Helps

I had my third session with my grief counselor, and I have to say talking really does help. It’s an hour where I can say what I’m feeling with no fear of being judged. It is also helping me to put into perspective why the little irritations are bothering me so much.

She is helping me to identify the people in my life who I can depend on and to let go of my disappointment in the ones who I can’t. Also just because those “disappointments” may not be the support I had hoped they would be doesn’t mean I have to exclude them from my life, I just have to recognize the role they will play.

It’s another loss, but that’s life…and…death.

I hate being a widow

I loved being a wife. I was good at it. I hate being a widow! David died early in August. It’s been a little over 3 months and while I’m strong, I’m functioning in day to day life, I HATE IT!

I’m sad. I’m angry. I did not want to join this club. (I don’t think anyone does.) I’m too young to be a widow–51. I was only a wife for a short time–8 years. It’s not fair. I don’t like the new normal.

Will I survive? I think so. How will I survive? I’m not sure. I’m hoping writing about it will help.